


Let's Pretend Our Dreams Come True As Years Pass By

by whisperedstory



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5 Times, Don't copy to another site, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedstory/pseuds/whisperedstory
Summary: Five times Geralt and Jaskier pretended to be in a relationship and one time they didn't have to.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 83
Kudos: 1100





	Let's Pretend Our Dreams Come True As Years Pass By

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [dancing_adrift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift) <3
> 
> Title taken from "Let's Pretend" by Hank Snow.

1.

Geralt's eyes sweep over the busy marketplace and he sighs when he finds Jaskier, being crowded by an angry looking, burly man. The daggers and knives Geralt was just about to take a closer look at will have to wait. 

People shift out of his way as he walks past the row of stalls at a quick pace. Jaskier's back is turned to him, his shoulders tense and his hands raised, clearly trying to placate. Geralt can guess what this is about even before he gets within earshot.

He steps up behind Jaskier, close enough that his shoulder brushes against Jaskier's. 

"Is there a problem here?"

Jaskier turns with a nervous laugh, looking at Geralt with relief.

"Geralt! There you are," he says. He slides his arms around Geralt's waist, eyes pleading before he leans in, kisses Geralt's cheek. "Darling, will you please tell this gentleman that he must be confusing me with someone else, because I was with _you_ last night and certainly not with his wife?"

"Hmm," Geralt hums and gives Jaskier an unimpressed look. 

Jaskier pinches his side, a silent demand for him to play along. Geralt sighs, but brings his arm up around Jaskier.

"He was with me," he confirms, looking at the man across from Jaskier.

"I saw him slip out of my house!" the man sputters, hands curled into fists and face an ugly shade of red.

"As you said, good sir, it was the middle of the night and you were returning from the tavern," Jaskier says with a sweet smile, the implication heavy in his voice. "Perhaps you saw someone of similar height and built, but I can assure you it was not me." 

"Are you trying to play me for a fool, boy?" the man asks, moving just a little closer, and Geralt shifts Jaskier behind him, letting his arm drop from around Jaskier so he can unsheathe his sword if necessary without Jaskier being in the way. 

"He was with me. All night," he repeats pointedly.

"Yes. All night. Didn't get much sleep either, if you know what I mean," Jaskier says and waggles his eyebrows. Geralt thinks maybe he should have let the man in front of them get at least one punch in before he came to Jaskier's rescue.

The man sneers, looking between them, and Geralt sees the disgust settle on his features. At least it means he finally seems to believe them.

"Filth," he spits before finally turning away, and Geralt feels Jaskier tense against him.

"Excuse—" 

"We have things to do, Jaskier," Geralt cuts him off, giving Jaskier a look.

"Did you hear what he called us? Geralt," Jaskier starts, outrage clear on his face. He raises his arms, waving them around, and Geralt knows Jaskier is about to go into a rant. Loudly. Publicly. 

"Not worth it," Geralt mutters and puts a hand on Jaskier's arm, giving him a tug. "Come on, I need to buy a few things. And I'm sure you _want_ to buy a few things as well, unnecessary as they may be."

Jaskier makes a disgruntled noise but lets himself be steered away. "You should have drawn your sword on that man for what he said," he mutters. "Calling us filth! The nerve!"

"You always have to get in trouble, don't you?" Geralt asks, keeping his hand on Jaskier. He fears if he lets go, Jaskier is just going to tumble headfirst into new trouble again—he has a knack for it.

"For once I actually didn't do anything," Jaskier says and swats him with a huff. "I wish I had spent the night with some lovely lady instead of falling asleep to the sound of you sharpening your swords and brooding."

"You were well into your cups and fell asleep right away."

"Slander!" Jaskier exclaims and Geralt rolls his eyes.

"It's the truth," he says and loosens his hold on Jaskier. "If I let go, will you stay close? I just want to buy what we need and get out of town without any more issues."

"I'm not an unruly child, you know," Jaskier points out, but he shifts closer, turning his body more into Geralt's as they make their way past the rows of stalls. "But I'll stay close. I'll even hold your hand, darling."

Geralt lets go of Jaskier, but throws him a look.

"What?" Jaskier asks, head turned to Geralt and voice low. "Gotta make it believable, don't we?"

Geralt can't really argue with that and Jaskier smiles and takes Geralt's hand in his, sliding their fingers together.

2.

"A what?" Lady Amelia asks and looks at Geralt nervously. Her voice is slightly higher than before and he can smell the worry rolling off her.

"A bruxa," Geralt says. 

Lady Amelia nods. "Right. Yes, a bruxa," she repeats. "So, how will you kill this bruxa? I fear if any more of my guests disappear and are found dead the next day, my standing in society will suffer."

Geralt doesn't comment on the fact that she, perhaps, should be more concerned about the fact that people she has claimed to be her friends have died rather than her standing in society. He's dealt with enough nobles to know what they're like. At least the coin is good.

"You mentioned a banquet tomorrow," Geralt says. "Chances are the bruxa is someone you know, seeing as they're picking off your acquaintances. Someone you think a friend or perhaps someone who works for you."

Lady Amelia bites her bottom lip. "Oh, how horrid."

Geralt hums. "The bruxa will most likely show up at the banquet."

"Ah, and you will be there to stop the monster," Lady Amelia concludes. "Very well, witcher."

"Hmm."

Lady Amelia clears her throat and looks him up and down. "I'm not sure my guests will feel very comfortable around a witcher, I'm afraid," she says. Behind Geralt, Jaskier, who has been inspecting the display of taxidermy in Lady Amelia's study, makes an indignant noise. "And it would be slightly suspicious."

Geralt grunts, because she _does_ have a point.

"Geralt has been a guest of honor at many courts across the Continent," Jaskier chimes in. "His heroic deeds are well known across the land. Surely that alone would be reason enough to want to have an esteemed guest like Geralt of Rivia at your feast."

Lady Amelia clears her throat, smiles tentatively. "I fear some of my friends would question how I would even be acquainted with a witcher," she says. 

"Ah. Well then, perhaps if he was to accompany one of your guests?" Jaskier suggests and comes to stand at Geralt's side.

Lady Amelia glances at Geralt, but averts her eyes quickly and looks at Jaskier instead. "Are you suggesting he should attend with one of my unmarried friends? I wouldn't know who to ask, quite frankly, nor would I want to impose on a friend like that. I'm sure you understand?" 

"Of course," Jaskier says, tone so sweet Lady Amelia's expression falters. "He will accompany me."

"You?"

"Jaskier," Geralt starts.

"It's perfect, admit it," Jaskier says. "Everyone knows we are companions. There are enough _rumors_ about us."

He sounds gleeful about the last part, like it brings him pleasure that people are gossiping about the nature of their relationship behind closed doors. Knowing Jaskier, it probably does.

"I already have a musician for the feast," Lady Amelia interjects.

"Ah, I'm sorry, my Lady, I fear I forgot to introduce myself properly. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, at your service," Jaskier says with a small bow. "Simply tell people our families are acquainted and we are old friends. There is no reason for anyone to question that."

Geralt has to admit that, out of all the options they have, it's the best one. Knowing Jaskier, he will make their guise quite believable. 

*

"If the coin wasn't so good, I would say simply let the bruxa kill them all," Jaskier mutters to Geralt the next evening. He has an arm curled around Geralt's elbow, his other hand resting on Geralt's upper arm. 

Geralt is sorely tempted to agree. They've spent the past couple of hours being scrutinized and stared at with curiosity and disbelief and he's been privy to more than one whispered conversation about them thanks to his sensitive hearing. He's glad Jaskier, at least, doesn't know what is being said—though he can probably imagine it—or he would have started more than one fight already. It wouldn't be the first time.

"I need more wine," Jaskier sighs.

"Jaskier," Geralt warns.

"What?" Jaskier asks and tips his head back, smiling sweetly at him. "You have a job to do. But I just have to stare at you adoringly and hang off your arm. I can do that drunk just as well." 

Geralt sighs, but doesn't argue.

"And if you want to accidentally stab a few people with those daggers you're hiding under your doublet, I would be much obliged."

Geralt snorts. "Behave."

"Fine, fine," Jaskier grumbles and then leans in. He kisses Geralt's cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and the edge of his jaw.

"Jaskier," Geralt hisses.

"They're already talking. I'm giving them something to actually talk about," Jaskier replies cheekily, smirking. He squeezes Geralt's arm. "And we have to make it look believable anyway. Maybe we should go make out behind one of those big pillars, hmm?"

"No," Geralt says, and pretends he didn't hesitate for just a second.

"Shame," Jaskier says with a small pout. 

"You're unbelievable," Geralt grumbles.

"Ah, yes. Yes, I am. Thank you for noticing, darling," Jaskier teases. "Now, wine. Seriously. Copious amount of wine, my dear witcher. Or I will steal one of your daggers and do a little stabbing myself."

Geralt wishes Jaskier was kidding, but he knows better, so he steers Jaskier in the direction of a server with a tray of drinks. 

It's going to be a long evening. 

With Jaskier clutching his arm and fluttering his eyelashes at Geralt, he finds himself not minding as much as he should.

3.

"They all look the same," Geralt mutters.

Jaskier makes an affronted noise and turns to stare at Geralt, gaping. "They all… they all look the same? Excuse you?" he scoffs. "This doublet is completely different. The colors alone and the stitching, Geralt! Have you no taste?"

Geralt grunts, glancing at Jaskier only briefly.

Jaskier puffs his chest. "Unbelievable," he mutters. He does up the last button of his doublet and looks down at himself, before he heaves a sigh.

"Jaskier." 

"What?" Jaskier snaps.

"What's the big fucking deal?" Geralt asks.

Jaskier huffs and smoothes a hand down his chest. "It's nothing. No big deal," he says. "Just forget it."

"Alright," Geralt agrees.

Nerves make Jaskier's stomach churn and he groans. "Okay, no, don't forget it," he amends. "Look, it's… well, see, Professor Marniok is quite a big deal. The ballads he's written! The things he's taught me!"

Geralt hums.

Jaskier bites down on his bottom lip and turns fully towards Geralt, watching him rub a cloth over a spot on his leather armor.

"Geralt," he says, voice coming out pleading.

Geralt doesn't look at him, but he lifts his head a little, clearly paying attention.

"I've done something stupid."

Geralt snorts. "What else is new, bard?"

Jaskier sighs slowly and nods. "Okay, yes, maybe. But… see, Professor Marniok is a legend among my kind," he says. "And I've made quite a name for myself. But we… never really saw eye to eye on some things."

"Hmm? Did he think your songs were full of lies and too bawdy?"

"No," Jaskier huffs. "You bastard. My songs are wonderful."

"Hmm."

"No, it wasn't that. He just… well, maybe he wasn't always a fan of my bawdier songs. But that's just a personal preference. Writing songs for the audience in Oxenfurt is one thing, but writing music for the masses, for the small towns across the country, is different. They like the bawdy songs," Jaskier explains and then shakes his head. "But I digress."

"You don't say."

"Oh, shut it," Jaskier says and goes to the little table Geralt is sitting at in their shared room at the inn. He pulls out a chair and sits. "Look. Professor Marniok wasn't too fond of my dalliances. Because I was more focused on those than my schooling sometimes. And I got into my fair share of trouble. Sleeping with married people and a professor or two. You know how it is."

"Not really."

"Yeah, well. He thought I should be more focused on my classes and my craft," Jaskier says and waves his hand dismissively.

"Huh. I like him," Geralt notes dryly.

Jaskier almost scowls, but he catches himself and pastes on a bright smile. "Good. Because you're joining us for dinner."

There's a brief silence and then Geralt looks at him with narrowed eyes. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Because," Jaskier starts and tries to smile charmingly, "I may have accidentally told Professor Marniok that I am a changed man and I would bring my partner to dinner."

"Jaskier."

"It just slipped out. But once it did I obviously couldn't take it back and I may have mentioned your name," Jaskier rushes out and then makes a face. "I wanted to impress him, I guess. Which is, admittedly, somewhat foolish. But it happened and here we are." 

Jaskier watches Geralt's expression harden. He leans forward and rests his hand on Geralt's arm.

"Geralt. My very best friend. My darling witcher," he says sweetly. "Please come to dinner with us. Please?"

He tucks his chin against his chest and looks at Geralt through his lashes, makes his eyes big and pleading.

Geralt snorts. "You think that will work?"

"Yes?" Jaskier says, making his voice sweet and pitiful. "I will buy you all the honey cakes tomorrow. And apples for Roach."

"You always buy Roach apples."

"New armor, then! A new saddle. Whatever you want."

"You don't have the money for that," Geralt reasons, and Jaskier groans.

"Fine. I'm _begging_ you, my dear witcher," he says dramatically. "Please come to dinner with me. I will owe you forever."

Geralt grumbles under his breath, then sighs. "Okay, fine," he agrees.

*

"Ah, this must be your muse," Professor Marniok greets them when he meets Jaskier and Geralt in his study.

The thing is, it's true. Of course it's true. Jaskier isn't exactly hiding it, but sometimes he thinks Geralt still doesn't realize. Most of Jaskier's songs are about him, are literally singing his praises and speaking plainly about Jaskier's admiration. It works for them—Jaskier adores Geralt and Geralt is clueless.

"Ah, yes," Jaskier says nervously. "This is Geralt of Rivia."

"The White Wolf," Professor Marniok says. "I have to admit, I didn't think anyone could ever tame Jaskier."

"Oh, he's not tame," Geralt says and he sounds amused. He sounds fond.

Jaskier puts his hand on Geralt's elbow, shifting closer, and smiles at him. "You wouldn't want me tame," he murmurs.

Geralt glances at him. "No, I don't," he says. 

Professor Marniok clears his throat and when Jaskier turns to look at him, he finds him smiling, looking at them with interest.

"I was surprised when you told me you had changed your ways, Jaskier," he says. "But it makes a lot more sense now."

"It does?" Jaskier says, his throat a little dry.

"Ah, yes. It's obvious, there is quite a special bond between you two," Professor Marniok says, nodding.

Before Jaskier can reply, Geralt hums and brings his hand up, resting it warmly on the back of Jaskier's neck. "Quite special," he agrees.

4.

Jaskier is in the middle of a song when Geralt comes in. 

They've been apart for a couple of months, after Geralt heard rumors of a nightwraith further south and Jaskier got a request to perform at a betrothal. They had made no definite plans to meet up again, as always, but when the door to the tavern opens with a loud bang, Jaskier isn't surprised when he looks up and finds Geralt stalking in. 

He looks exhausted, hair matted and wet from the drizzling rain, his boots caked with mud. Jaskier stops playing instantly, puts his lute down to some disgruntled noise.

He isn't sure if Geralt saw him—if he did, he didn't acknowledge Jaskier's presence, heading straight for the bar instead. 

"We only serve humans here," the innkeeper says, before Geralt can even open his mouth.

Jaskier watches Geralt's jaw clench.

"We don't want a mutant freak in our midst," the alderman, who is sitting at the bar with a tankard of ale, says.

Jaskier huffs quietly and saunters up to them. 

"He's with me," he declares loudly.

Geralt glances at him. "Jaskier."

Jaskier smiles and stops at Geralt's side, leaning in to press kiss to his cheek. "Hello, dear. I've missed you."

"Hmm." 

Jaskier cuts a glance at the barkeep and his smile feels cold, anger bubbling up in his stomach. "I've brought in quite a lot of people here tonight. I'm pretty popular, you see. Got people all over the continent singing my songs," he says, his voice tight. "And you were all just clapping along to a song about the White Wolf quite enthusiastically just a minute ago."

The innkeeper grunts, his eyes narrowed. Jaskier notices the rest of the tavern has fallen almost silent, listening to them.

"Now, it is your establishment. We are going to leave if you insist, of course. I can take my business to a different tavern in town," Jaskier continues and plasters himself closer against Geralt's side. "Oh, I think there's quite a good song here, now that I think about it. About the tavern that wouldn't serve the White Wolf and the famous bard Jaskier. Gosh, I'm feeling quite inspired suddenly, really. I think it might be my next big song. People everywhere will know it word for word soon. Geralt, shall we go?"

"Stay," the barkeeper grunts. "Don't cause any trouble, witcher."

Jaskier smiles sweetly. "You will find us the most pleasant of patrons, do not fret," he says sweetly. "Bring us some ale and stew, please. My witcher must be hungry."

He glances at Geralt and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," he says. "Let's sit."

He steers Geralt to a table that's tucked away in the corner of the tavern, dark and quiet like Geralt likes it.

Once they're seated, he sighs. "Thank the gods," he mutters, leaning in closer to Geralt. "There's only one other inn in town and it's rancid. I really didn't want to have to stay there."

Geralt grunts. 

"What was that? Thank you, Jaskier, my dearest friend, for helping me out? Why, of course, Geralt. You're welcome," Jaskier says. "You know I would do anything for you, witcher." 

"What was up with the kiss?" Geralt asks.

Jaskier makes a disgruntled noise and glances furtively at the bar. "That alderman doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself," he confesses. "Now, I know I like older men once in a while, but not _that_ old."

Geralt snorts, lips lifting up. "I'm older."

Jaskier pats his arm and then leans in and kisses Geralt's cheek quickly. "I'd make an exception for you if you were so inclined, dear. You are quite sexy for someone your age," he says. "You also don't fondle my bottom after I've already told you no several times. Another point in your favor."

Geralt's jaw twitches and he glances darkly at the bar, before looking back at Jaskier. "I can cut his hands off." 

"I'm pretty sure that would be considered causing trouble," Jaskier says regretfully.

"Jaskier," Geralt says, and he sounds serious. 

Jaskier smiles at him and shakes his head. "Just keep me safe from straying hands, alright?" he says. "I fear I have to leave you for a bit now. I should sing a few more songs. Order me some wine for when I get back, please?"

Before Jaskier can slip off the bench though, Geralt curls an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in. He kisses Jaskier, just a quick brush of lips. When they part, Geralt glares at the bar and Jaskier has no doubt the alderman is watching them and got the message loud and clear. Jaskier is off limits.

Jaskier hides his laugh in the side of Geralt's neck, staying tucked against Geralt's side for a few more moments. He drags himself away finally, _reluctantly_ , with a kiss to Geralt's jaw.

5\. 

Jaskier glances at the corner of the tavern where Geralt is sitting at a table. There's a woman with him; he noticed her approaching Geralt several songs ago, and every time Jaskier looks at Geralt, he seems to look less and less comfortable.

Judging by the way she is leaning across the table, Jaskier can guess what she wants from Geralt, and while he doesn't understand why—she's pretty, tall with long, dark hair—Geralt clearly isn't enjoying her attention.

Jaskier finishes his last song and then, to some disappointed cries and a lot of cheering, he tells his audience that, no, that will be all for today. 

He has a witcher to save.

Jaskier puts his lute away in its case and hitches the strap over his shoulder before he meanders over to Geralt's table, stopping briefly here and there to politely accept compliments and coins.

He finally reaches Geralt's little corner of the tavern. To anyone else, Geralt's expression would look to be unchanging, but Jaskier notices the way he relaxes a little bit, some of the tension easing from his body.

Jaskier plasters a wide, oblivious grin on his face and plops himself down right into Geralt's lap. "Miss me, dear?" he asks as he wraps his arms around Geralt's neck.

"Jaskier," Geralt says, quietly and, dare Jaskier say, _fondly_. He slips his arms around Jaskier's hips, keeping him steady on his lap.

"It's a marvelous crowd, darling. Did you hear people cheer and clap?" Jaskier asks and then without waiting for a reply he leans in and kisses Geralt. It's a chaste brush of lips against lips, but Jaskier lingers for a moment before he pulls back with a smile. 

On the other side of the table, Geralt's admirer makes a quiet, but outraged, noise. 

Jaskier turns his head, making his eyes go wide. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't notice you," he lies, ducking his head as if embarrassed. "I was just so excited to get back to my Geralt."

The woman scowls at him and then glares at Geralt over Jaskier's shoulder. "You could have just said," she huffs and then turns and stalks away without a backwards glance.

"Well, that was quite rude," Jaskier says and turns back to Geralt, winking at him.

Geralt hums, lips twitching up into a smile. "Hmm, I guess there go my chances."

"And you were _so_ interested," Jaskier replies with a gasp. "I'm terribly sorry, dear."

Geralt snorts. His hands haven't moved from Jaskier's hips, his hold secure but gentle, so Jaskier makes no move to slide off his lap. He can feel the heat of Geralt's palms through the silk of his trousers. 

"Why weren't you? Interested, I mean," Jaskier asks quietly. "She was quite lovely, really." 

"She wasn't what I wanted," Geralt replies.

"Oh. Alright," Jaskier says. He brushes his fingers down Geralt's neck. "You know. She might still be watching us."

"She might," Geralt agrees.

"We should probably make sure she believes us," Jaskier says with a small grin, trying to sound cocky even if his heart is beating fast in his chest. Geralt can no doubt hear it. He leans in a little, waits, watches Geralt's eyes drop down to his mouth before lifting up again.

"That would be advisable," Geralt agrees. 

Jaskier's breath comes out in a rush, relieved that Geralt isn't laughing this off, isn't pushing Jaskier off his lap. He closes the last distance between them and kisses Geralt, just another brush of lips.

"Just for show," he says when they break apart.

One of Geralt's hands comes up, rests on the back of Jaskier's head. "Yes, just for show," he echoes and pulls Jaskier in again.

+1

"Julian."

Jaskier stiffens at the name and turns his head, forcing a smile onto his face as he sees who it is. He should have expected something like this to happen sooner or later—he was bound to run into a member of his family at some court eventually.

"Ah. Filip. How… _lovely_ to see you here," he says and puts a hand on Geralt's arm, squeezing it maybe a bit too tightly. "Geralt, dear, may I introduce you to one of my cousins, Filip. Filip, this is Geralt of Rivia."

"Pleasure," Filip says with a smile as fake as Jaskier's, and Geralt gives a small nod of his head. "I see you're still doing this… traveling bard thing then, Julian?"

"Ah, yes. I'm afraid I still haven't found the right motivation to force myself to be someone I am not and live a miserable life," Jaskier snarks, keeping his expression polite. The banquet hall is crowded and Jaskier, for once, has no desire to cause a scene or draw attention to himself. Tonight, he's here as Geralt's guest.

His cousin makes a disapproving noise, looking Jaskier up and down with a judging look that makes Jaskier bristle. Next to him, Geralt remains silent, letting Jaskier handle the situation, though Jaskier can feel him standing tall and stiff, ready to step in if need be.

"You need to be more careful," Filip says, his tone low. "There's still time for you to return home and let people write this off as a, ah, well not quite youthful, but a foolish rebellious phase, let's say. Your parents will find a good match for you that will help dispel these nasty rumors before your reputation is irreparably soiled."

"Nasty rumors?" Jaskier replies with a sniff.

"About you and your… travel companion."

Geralt snorts quietly, but remains silent.

"Ah," Jaskier says and turns his body into Geralt's, their arms pressed together. "I'm afraid those _rumors_ are quite true and I have no intention of doing anything about it." 

Jaskier watches Geralt's lips twitch up ever so slightly.

"You can't be serious, Julian. Do you know what the people are saying about you?" Filip hisses, looking around like he's worried people will overhear. As if everyone doesn't already know all the rumors about Jaskier and Geralt, true or not. "Sharing a bed with a _witcher_? You're bringing shame to our entire family. Your poor mother is bereft, wondering where they went wrong with you."

"What else is new then? I think she would be quite shocked, actually, if I stopped disappointing her one day," Jaskier snarks. "Tell me, dear cousin, what is it like to spend your life wed to someone who you hold no affection for? To share silent dinners every evening, to sleep next to someone without ever being graced by a warm touch, to only be smiled at when there is company around that you need to put on an act for? And then tell me why the fuck I would want that?"

"You're of noble blood, Julian. Others would kill to hold the title you were born to have," Filip says, disapproval clear in his voice.

Jaskier nods. "Well, others can have it. I am quite happy to renounce the title, as I have told my father before," he says and smiles tightly. "Now, excuse us. Geralt saved many townspeople from death today and he is the alderman's guest of honor. It would be rude of us not to mingle." 

Jaskier's cousin makes an affronted noise, but Jaskier ignores him and turns to Geralt instead. "I think I would quite like another drink now, dear," he says and kisses Geralt's cheek. "And you did promise me a dance."

Geralt smiles and Jaskier hooks his arm around Geralt's, steering him away.

"I did not promise you a dance," Geralt says quietly, tilting his head towards Jaskier. "In fact, I remember quite clearly telling you that I may attend this dinner party, but I will not be dancing tonight."

Jaskier sticks out his bottom lip a little. "But Geralt."

"That look doesn't work on me." 

"On the contrary. I remember that look working quite well on you just a few days ago when you agreed to stay in town for another day and not leave the bed all day long when I ever so politely asked you to."

"I think it was the fact that you were sprawled out naked in bed that convinced me."

"Hmm. I can strip down right here if nudity is what it takes," Jaskier offers with a sweet smile.

Geralt snorts. "Even you wouldn't do that."

"Oh why not? You heard my cousin: my reputation is already ruined anyway," Jaskier says dismissively, waving his hand around. 

"Jaskier," Geralt starts, his tone questioning.

Jaskier lets go of Geralt to snatch two glasses of wine from a passing waiter and hands one to Geralt. He smiles at a gaggle of young ladies passing them, giggling and whispering, before turning his attention back to Geralt. "Yes?"

"Being known as the bard who travels with me is one thing—as the man who sleeps with a witcher another," Geralt says. "Your family will not be the only ones taking offense at that. It might not be smart…"

Jaskier holds up his free hand, stopping Geralt. "I'm not ashamed of this, Geralt. I never will be. People could run me out of towns with pitchforks and spit in my face, and I would walk out with my head held high as long as I get to do it by your side."

"You're reckless," Geralt grumbles.

"I'm proud of who I am and who I have chosen to share my life with," Jaskier retorts. "I will not let others decide how I should live my life. If I did, I would have stayed at home, married someone I didn't love, and inherit my father's title one day. And I would be miserable."

"You're miserable on the road with me quite a lot, too," Geralt points out.

"Well, you can't blame a man for getting a little petulant when his companion is constantly covered in monster guts and thinks a little seasoning is a frivolous luxury. But life with you comes with pleasures that make up for that." 

"Hmm." Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier briefly drops his gaze to Geralt's crotch with a smirk.

"The greatest of pleasures, really," Jaskier says and takes a sip of his wine. "Now, come on, the quicker we get this mingling business over with, the sooner we can return to the inn." 

"What's the rush?" 

Jaskier smirks at him. "Well, my dear cousin believes I will spend the night with my thighs spread for a witcher, debasing myself dreadfully. I would hate to disappoint him."

*

Jaskier arches back with a loud whine, pleasure sparking deep in his belly as Geralt pushes into him. His cheek is pressed into the pillow, face turned to the side, the cotton scratchy under his skin, and his hands are fisted in the fabric that's bunched under him. His shoulders drag against the mattress with each thrust, the bed hitting the wall with dull thuds.

Jaskier gasps and keens and whimpers. And maybe he's being louder than usual, but it's no less genuine, and it seems to spur Geralt on, making him drive into Jaskier harder, deeper. It feels amazing, each thrust sending pleasure up Jaskier's spine, the stretch of Geralt's thick cock burning in the most delicious way. He feels almost too full and it's perfect, making his head clouded with how good it is.

Someone bangs against the wall from the room next door, a muffled, "Shut the fuck up."

Jaskier laughs breathlessly, pushing back to meet Geralt's thrusts. "Keep going, Geralt, fuck. Do it harder," he urges, his voice broken and breathless.

Geralt grunts. He leans over Jaskier, body blanketing Jaskier's and pinning him down into the mattress. Jaskier groans loudly.

"Hmm. Like this, Jask?" Geralt rumbles. The new angle makes it hard for him to keep up his pace and he ruts down into Jaskier instead, thrusts short and sharp now. "Like being so full?"

"You know I do," Jaskier whimpers, his head spinning. "Oh fuck, yes, darling. You're perfect. _Fuck_ , so perfect." 

Geralt grunts and bites at Jaskier's neck, driving into him hard, burying himself deep. Jaskier cries out as he comes untouched, spilling his seed onto the mattress.

Later, Jaskier lies sprawled out half on top of Geralt, his head resting on Geralt's chest and one leg wedged between Geralt's. Geralt twists his fingers in his hair, tugs a little. 

"You were being loud."

Jaskier snorts quietly. "So? You enjoyed it," he murmurs, turning his head to lay a sloppy kiss on Geralt's chest.

"Jask."

"What? I'm always _loud_ ," Jaskier says and tips his head up, smiling at Geralt innocently. 

"Not like that," Geralt says. "Sounded like an entire fucking brothal."

"Why, thank you," Jaskier says with a grin, patting Geralt's stomach. Then he hums. "You know how these things are. Word travels fast, I'm sure everyone will be whispering about this by morning." 

Geralt tugs at his hair again. "Hmm. You want your cousin to know," he observes. "Why?"

Jaskier grins. "I want everyone to know," he says honestly, his voice tinged with pride. "But my dear cousin should be able to bring home news about just how well I am doing, don't you think? I'm sure my family will be quite relieved to hear just how happy I am with my witcher. That the rumors are true, nay, that the truth far exceeds the gossip they heard."

"You enjoy pissing people off way too much." 

"Oh, if you knew them you would want to piss them off, too," Jaskier says and snuggles closer, seeking the familiar heat of Geralt's body. Geralt, as if reading his mind, tugs the blankets up higher around them, until they're covering Jaskier completely. 

"I wouldn't be surprised if they send someone after you one day." 

"I have you to protect me," Jaskier replies and pats Geralt's chest, fingers rubbing over warm, scarred skin. "But they wouldn't dare. They'd be terrified of you."

"Maybe I would hand you over to them freely." 

"Oh please," Jaskier says around a yawn. "Everyone knows you adore me, darling. They all knew way before we did." 

"Hmm."

"Now hush. It's been an exhausting day. Dealing with family, keeping my witcher satisfied," Jaskier says. "Let me sleep." 

Geralt grunts.

Jaskier smiles to himself and shifts, lifting his head briefly and tilting his chin up. Geralt seems to recognize Jaskier's silent demand, because he shifts, tugs Jaskier a little higher to meet his mouth in a kiss. It's chaste and soft, sweet. There's no one to witness, no one to hear them or to perform for. Those are Jaskier's favorite kisses. The ones that are just for them.

**Author's Note:**

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